Herland
faces, though some were terrified enough, there was great beauty--on
that we all agreed.
“Come on!” cried Terry, pushing forward. “Oh, come on! Here goes for
Herland!”
CHAPTER 2.
Rash Advances
Not more than ten or fifteen miles we judged it from our landing rock to
that last village. For all our eagerness we thought it wise to keep to
the woods and go carefully.
Even Terry’s ardor was held in check by his firm conviction that there
were men to be met, and we saw to it that each of us had a good stock of
cartridges.
“They may be scarce, and they may be hidden away somewhere--some kind of
a matriarchate, as Jeff tells us; for that matter, they may live up
in the mountains yonder and keep the women in this part of the
country--sort of a national harem! But there are men somewhere--didn’t
you see the babies?”
We had all seen babies, children big and little, everywhere that we had
come near enough to distinguish the people. And though by dress we could
not be sure of all the grown persons, still there had not been one man
that we were certain of.
“I always liked that Arab saying, ‘First tie your camel and then trust
in the Lord,’” Jeff murmured; so we all had our weapons in hand, and
stole cautiously through the forest. Terry studied it as we progressed.
“Talk of civilization,” he cried softly in restrained enthusiasm. “I
never saw a forest so petted, even in Germany. Look, there’s not a dead
bough--the vines are trained--actually! And see here”--he stopped and
looked about him, calling Jeff’s attention to the kinds of trees.
They left me for a landmark and made a limited excursion on either side.
“Food-bearing, practically all of them,” they announced returning. “The
rest, splendid hardwood. Call this a forest? It’s a truck farm!”
“Good thing to have a botanist on hand,” I agreed. “Sure there are no
medicinal ones? Or any for pure ornament?”
As a matter of fact they were quite right. These towering trees were
under as careful cultivation as so many cabbages. In other conditions
we should have found those woods full of fair foresters and fruit
gatherers; but an airship is a conspicuous object, and by no means
quiet--and women are cautious.
All we found moving in those woods, as we started through them, were
birds, some gorgeous, some musical, all so tame that it seemed almost
to contradict our theory of cultivation--at least until we came upon
occasional little glades, where carved stone seats and tables stood in
the shade beside clear fountains, with shallow bird baths always added.
“They don’t kill birds, and apparently they do kill cats,” Terry
declared. “_Must_ be men here. Hark!”
We had heard something: something not in the least like a birdsong, and
very much like a suppressed whisper of laughter--a little happy sound,
instantly smothered. We stood like so many pointers, and then used our
glasses, swiftly, carefully.
“It couldn’t have been far off,” said Terry excitedly. “How about this
big tree?”
There was a very large and beautiful tree in the glade we had just
entered, with thick wide-spreading branches that sloped out in lapping
fans like a beech or pine. It was trimmed underneath some twenty feet
up, and stood there like a huge umbrella, with circling seats beneath.
“Look,” he pursued. “There are short stumps of branches left to climb
on. There’s someone up that tree, I believe.”
We stole near, cautiously.
“Look out for a poisoned arrow in your eye,” I suggested, but Terry
pressed forward, sprang up on the seat-back, and grasped the trunk. “In
my heart, more likely,” he answered. “Gee! Look, boys!”
We rushed close in and looked up. There among the boughs overhead was
something--more than one something--that clung motionless, close to the
great trunk at first, and then, as one and all we started up the tree,
separated into three swift-moving figures and fled upward. As we climbed
we could catch glimpses of them scattering above us. By the time we had
reached about as far as three men together dared push, they had left the
main trunk and moved outward, each one balanced on a long branch that
dipped and swayed beneath the weight.
We paused uncertain. If we pursued further, the boughs would break under
the double burden. We might shake them off, perhaps, but none of us was
so inclined. In the soft dappled light of these high regions, breathless
with our rapid climb, we rested awhile, eagerly studying our objects
of pursuit; while they in turn, with no more terror than a set of
frolicsome children in a game of tag, sat as lightly as so many big
bright birds on their precarious perches and frankly, curiously, stared
at us.
“Girls!” whispered Jeff, under his breath, as if they might fly if he
spoke aloud.
“Peaches!” added Terry, scarcely louder.
“Peacherinos--apricot-nectarines! Whew!”
They were girls, of course, no boys could ever have shown that sparkling
beauty, and yet none of us was certain at first.
We saw short hair, hatless, loose, and shining; a suit of some light
firm stuff, the closest of tunics and kneebreeches, met by trim gaiters.
As bright and smooth as parrots and as unaware of danger, they swung
there before us, wholly at ease, staring as we stared, till first one,
and then all of them burst into peals of delighted laughter.
Then there was a torrent of soft talk tossed back and forth; no savage
sing-song, but clear musical fluent speech.
We met their laughter cordially, and doffed our hats to them, at which
they laughed again, delightedly.
Then Terry, wholly in his element, made a polite speech, with
explanatory gestures, and proceeded to introduce us, with pointing
finger. “Mr. Jeff Margrave,” he said clearly; Jeff bowed as gracefully
as a man could in the fork of a great limb. “Mr. Vandyck Jennings”--I
also tried to make an effective salute and nearly lost my balance.
Then Terry laid his hand upon his chest--a fine chest he had, too,
and introduced himself; he was braced carefully for the occasion and
achieved an excellent obeisance.
Again they laughed delightedly, and the one nearest me followed his
tactics.
“Celis,” she said distinctly, pointing to the one in blue; “Alima”--the
one in rose; then, with a vivid imitation of Terry’s impressive manner,
she laid a firm delicate hand on her gold-green jerkin--“Ellador.” This
was pleasant, but we got no nearer.
“We can’t sit here and learn the language,” Terry protested. He beckoned
to them to come nearer, most winningly--but they gaily shook their
heads. He suggested, by signs, that we all go down together; but again
they shook their heads, still merrily. Then Ellador clearly indicated
that we should go down, pointing to each and all of us, with
unmistakable firmness; and further seeming to imply by the sweep of a
lithe arm that we not only go downward, but go away altogether--at which
we shook our heads in turn.
“Have to use bait,” grinned Terry. “I don’t know about you fellows,
but I came prepared.” He produced from an inner pocket a little box of
purple velvet, that opened with a snap--and out of it he drew a long
sparkling thing, a necklace of big varicolored stones that would have
been worth a million if real ones. He held it up, swung it, glittering
in the sun, offered it first to one, then to another, holding it out as
far as he could reach toward the girl nearest him. He stood braced
in the fork, held firmly by one hand--the other, swinging his bright
temptation, reached far out along the bough, but not quite to his full
stretch.
She was visibly moved, I noted, hesitated, spoke to her companions.
They chattered softly together, one evidently warning her, the other
encouraging. Then, softly and slowly, she drew nearer. This was Alima,
a tall long-limbed lass, well-knit and evidently both strong and agile.
Her eyes were splendid, wide, fearless, as free from suspicion as a
child’s who has never been rebuked. Her interest was more that of
an intent boy playing a fascinating game than of a girl lured by an
ornament.
The others moved a bit farther out, holding firmly, watching. Terry’s
smile was irreproachable, but I did not like the look in his eyes--it
was like a creature about to spring. I could already see it happen--the
dropped necklace, the sudden clutching hand, the girl’s sharp cry as he
seized her and drew her in. But it didn’t happen. She made a timid reach
with her right hand for the gay swinging thing--he held it a little
nearer--then, swift as light, she seized it from him with her left, and
dropped on the instant to the bough below.
He made his snatch, quite vainly, almost losing his position as his
hand clutched only air; and then, with inconceivable rapidity, the three
bright creatures were gone. They dropped from the ends of the big boughs
to those below, fairly pouring themselves off the tree, while we climbed
downward as swiftly as we could. We heard their vanishing gay laughter,
we saw them fleeting away in the wide open reaches of the forest, and
gave chase, but we might as well have chased wild antelopes; so we
stopped at length somewhat breathless.
“No use,” gasped Terry. “They got away with it. My word! The men of this
country must be good sprinters!”
“Inhabitants evidently arboreal,” I grimly suggested. “Civilized and
still arboreal--peculiar people.”
“You shouldn’t have tried that way,” Jeff protested. “They were
perfectly friendly; now we’ve scared them.”
But it was no use grumbling, and Terry refused to admit any mistake.
“Nonsense,” he said. “They expected it. Women like to be run after. Come
on, let’s get to that town; maybe we’ll find them there. Let’s see, it
was in this direction and not far from the woods, as I remember.”
When we reached the edge of the open country we reconnoitered with our
field glasses. There it was, about four miles off, the same town, we
concluded, unless, as Jeff ventured, they all had pink houses. The broad
green fields and closely cultivated gardens sloped away at our feet, a
long easy slant, with good roads winding pleasantly here and there, and
narrower paths besides.
“Look at that!” cried Jeff suddenly. “There they go!”
Sure enough, close to the town, across a wide meadow, three bright-hued
figures were running swiftly.
“How could they have got that far in this time? It can’t be the same
ones,” I urged. But through the glasses we could identify our pretty
tree-climbers quite plainly, at least by costume.
Terry watched them, we all did for that matter, till they disappeared
among the houses. Then he put down his glass and turned to us, drawing
a long breath. “Mother of Mike, boys--what Gorgeous Girls! To climb like
that! to run like that! and afraid of nothing. This country suits me all
right. Let’s get ahead.”
“Nothing venture, nothing have,” I suggested, but Terry preferred “Faint
heart ne’er won fair lady.”
We set forth in the open, walking briskly. “If there are any men, we’d
better keep an eye out,” I suggested, but Jeff seemed lost in heavenly
dreams, and Terry in highly practical plans.
“What a perfect road! What a heavenly country! See the flowers, will
you?”
This was Jeff, always an enthusiast; but we could agree with him fully.
The road was some sort of hard manufactured stuff, sloped slightly to
shed rain, with every curve and grade and gutter as perfect as if it
were Europe’s best. “No men, eh?” sneered Terry. On either side a double
row of trees shaded the footpaths; between the trees bushes or vines,
all fruit-bearing, now and then seats and little wayside fountains;
everywhere flowers.
“We’d better import some of these ladies and set ’em to parking the
United States,” I suggested. “Mighty nice place they’ve got here.” We
rested a few moments by one of the fountains, tested the fruit that